


Additional Credits

by Dareandwriteit



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Argo/Fitzroy if you want, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Semi spoilers for ep 15, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dareandwriteit/pseuds/Dareandwriteit
Summary: Fitzroy wants to be prepared for when he goes back to Knight School. He wants to make real strides, make this time away not wasted. He intends to earn some extra credits, even if he doesn’t like his lessons.
Relationships: Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Additional Credits

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thinking of maybe doing a collection of Fitzroy having some moments where he learns a little about himself by being around people who are actually friends to him. 
> 
> You want Fizroy to hang out with someone specific? Got a prompt for a learning moment you want to see? Let me know in a comment or at dareandwriteitdown on tumblr!
> 
> This fic was inspired by this art (https://chasingurmind.tumblr.com/post/620937972637974528/would-love-to-see-you-take-on-argo-trying-to-teach) with the first chapter bascially being exacty that sword fight! Check out chasingurmind, their art is amazing and a big source of inspo for me right now.

“Watch your form Fitz.” Argo said, with that awful smirk of his. It almost stung Fitzroy as much as his back did when he hit the ground what must have been his twentieth time that day. It felt like it must have been the thousandth time since they had started their sparring practice together.

Fitz could count the number of hits he’d managed to land on Argo in that time on one hand.

“I am! My form is impeccable, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re dancin’. Argo mumbled, offering a hand to Fitzroy to help him up. Fitzroy waved away the hand petulantly.

“ _Kicking_ isn’t part of formal duelling you, you vagabond!” Fitzroy groaned, getting up. He quickly straightened his cape, picked up the rapier that he had dropped with a spinning flourish.

“What do you think we’re training to do Fitzroy? Pose? Have you ever even held a sword before?” Argo effortlessly knocked the sword out of his hand, Fitzroy’s elegant grip absolutely useless.

“Of course I have! Swordsmanship is an essential class at Clyde Clyde Nite's Night Knight School. One which I excelled at, naturally.” Fitzroy rambled, stooping to pick up the sword once again.

“Really?” Argo said, with genuine curiosity.

“O-of course! Perfect grades across the board. Fastest completion of the course in the school’s history.” Fitzroy said, failing entirely to pretend at being nonchalant. He twirled his sword through the air with an extremely well practiced arc.

“Then… why you holding the sword like that?”

“Like what?” Fitzroy said, his voice catching. Argo grabbed his elbow, inspecting the way Fitzroy held the weapon.

“The guard’s all pressed against your palm, your fingers get stubbed everytime you hit something solid… what’d you practice with, a broom?”

Fitzroy pulled away sharply, his face suddenly flush. “W-what?! Who would do that? It’s swordsmanship, not _broomsmanship_!”

Argo got a look on his face that Fitzroy was horribly familiar with. That tiny twitch the corner of the eye, that fucking beginning of a smile. He was laughing at him, he was pitying him.

He felt a tiny spark fly across the back of his mind. That beginning ember of wild magic, that hint that everything is about to fall apart. No, no, not like this. Not over this. This was just another embarrassment in a long line of embarrassments. He would weather it like all the others.

“They didn’t feel it was fair to the other students to have me armed with a real blade, after my extensive time researching form and theory. And after a few instances of what I like to call uneven matches, I-” Fitzroy stuttered to a stop mid sentence. Argo was still staring at him, but… he wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t pitying. He was just… listening. Same way he did when Rainer was on some strange story about recovering a rodent skeleton or when the Firbolg took twenty minutes to drag through a sentence. Argo wouldn’t laugh at him.

“Early in the year, my school provided sword was… misplaced. And rather than miss out on my essential schooling, I opted to be resourceful. And use what I could find. And wouldn’t cha know it, a wooden broom doesn’t hold up all that well to custom rapiers.”

“They made you learn to duel against real swords with a broom?” Argo said, voice heavy with concern.

Fitzroy swallowed hard, wishing he would just shut up already. “Passed the class though!” He absent mindedly rubbed at a spot on his face that was hidden by his glasses. When would they make healing potions that sealed scars properly? It really ruined his heroic image. “Couldn’t get me out of the classroom fast enough.”

“They sound like buncha stuck up tools.” Argo said, absently.

“Nobility comes with certain standards-” Fitzroy began.

“Standards of being dicks, maybe. What a bunch of sick snobs.” Argo said again, focused on the tip of his own sword instead of Fitzroy.

Fitzroy felt that spark of magic again, a little stronger this time. “Becoming a knight is an elite process, and that entitles knights to a certain level of respect.”

“Entitles them to treat people like dirt?” Argo said, still not meeting Fitzroy’s eye. “Why the hell you even want to be a snobby jumped-up ass-”

Fitzroy was somewhere else. It felt like he had passed out again, but he could still feel the ground beneath him, the weight of his cape on his shoulders. But all he could only see, instead of the familiar encompassing dark void, was glimmering mother of pearl.

And then he woke up.

Fitzroy didn’t know what happened. He must’ve picked up the sword, or maybe he’d even taken Argo’s from him. The grass of the quad was blackened beneath him, his footprints leaving perfectly burnt patches that left the earth smoking. Argo had fallen onto his back, his shirt was torn, how did that happen? The sword Fitzroy was holding was shaking, the blade hovering under Argo’s chin. Argo was saying something, what was he saying? Did it matter? Finally Fitzroy had won a fight against him, of course it didn’t matter. Fitzroy Maplecourt had finally won a knight’s duel.

“-itz, ya listening?”

Fitzroy didn’t need to listen to him. He’d lost, why would he listen to a _loser_?

“Ya hands are kinda messed up there Fitz, lemme take a look at ‘em.”

There was a beat, the briefest moment of his eyes darting down to his hands. The guard of the sword had left a gash in his palm. Blood was dripping down his elbow, _darn that was this shirt ruined_ , but he didn’t feel it. He… why couldn’t he feel anything?

“Why haven’t you stopped me?” Whose voice was this? Was this his voice? 

“Because I don’t need to.” Argo said, somehow still infuriatingly calm.

“I’ll kill you.” No, no, he won’t, he’d never, why is he saying this? This is just practice, this doesn’t mean anything. “I could do it right now.”

“Yeah.” Argo said, a little breathless now, mostly likely because Fitzroy has a foot squarely situated on his chest. “But you won’t.”

“H-how do you know?” Fitzroy finally said, his own voice, his own words.

“Because you’re Fitz.” Argo said, smiling as he placed both hands on the boot planted on his chest and twisted. Fitz stumbled and fell in a heap, landing heavy on the singed grass without his sword, his win, or his dignity. 

“And you won’t quit until you win.”


End file.
